


The Heart of Darkness Affair

by Aetherschreiber



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8334277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aetherschreiber/pseuds/Aetherschreiber
Summary: Following the downing of their plane, and alone in the Brazilian rain forest, Illya desperately searches for his partner. But hope fades as time wears on and uncharted, empty expanses have a way of affecting a person.





	1. Teaser

Green stretched out in all directions far below the little yellow, blue, and white Britten-Norman _BN.2a Islander_ airplane that was humming through the air. Normally, there would have been several people in the craft, but today there were only two; the pilot and co-pilot.

Illya Kuryakin carefully watched the green expanse far below them as it drifted by, one mile looking much like the last. How he and his partner were supposed to spot a secret base in the middle of the Brazillian rainforest from a mile and more above its canopy was anyone's guess. None the less, they didn't have much else to go on and a preliminary search from the air was generally a lot safer than blindly wandering through the jungle.

The light brown squiggle on the landscape that was the Rio Jutai had just passed beneath them. Illya consulted his map for the next recognizable landmark and found little of note until they crossed the Rio Jurua. Between them was nearly a hundred miles of mostly uncharted rainforest.

"Well, if THRUSH has a satrap down there," Illya said to his partner, "this would be the perfect area. Almost nothing for a hundred miles."

Napoleon Solo momentarily took his eyes from the plane's instruments to gaze out his own window. "Yeah," he mused, "the perfect place for a hidden THRUSH scientific research facility. It's pretty dense, down there. We'll have to make several passes, I think."

"And Waverly was certain about the intel?" Illya asked.

"Certain enough to send us all the way here," Napoleon replied.

"Well, some x-ray glasses wouldn't have gone amiss," Illya carped, looking back down at the dense canopy below. Napoleon chuckled in response.

They flew in companionable silence for several moments, Illya closely studying the ground below, Napoleon dividing his time between the guages and the view out his own window. The plane looped around to make another pass over the area.

"What do you suppose it is, anyway?" Napoleon asked, absently. "What makes a man leave the civilized world and wall himself off in the middle of nowhere?"

"Actually, I can understand it completely," Illya said, "after all, we know better than most that the civilized world is often rather uncivilized. Leaving the rest of Humanity behind for a while has a certain appeal."

"You maybe," Napoleon replied, "but not me. Give me a comfy home in the middle of the city any day. I like having the movie cinema and nice restaurants to go to right close by."

"With a woman, I suppose," Illya deadpanned.

"Is there any other way?"

Illya rolled his eyes and shook his head, minutely. "One of these days, my friend," he said, "that's going to get you into a lot of trouble. Back home, we're brought up believing that a woman can be every bit as deadly and treacherous as a man."

"Ah! But that's what makes it exciting, chum!" Napoleon said. "See, every woman has-"

In the middle of what was likely going to turn into a long treatise on the wooing of women, the plane gave a sharp lurch and everything in the cockpit went dark and silent. Both their conversation and their search instantly forgotten, the two partners jolted upright in their seats and began plying the various cockpit controls.

"What happened?" Illya asked.

"I dunno. Everything just went out," Napoleon replied, gripping the yoke with both hands, pulling at it with every ounce of strength he could gather, "like it was just turned off. I don't have any control at all. I'm barely keeping her gliding!"

Somewhere in the wings, the rumble of the engines sputtered out, leaving them in a very ominous silence. Illya immediately got up and looked out one of the passenger windows.

"The engines just went out," he reported.

"Sure, no more fuel pump," Napoleon agreed, "I don't think I can put her down safely in the jungle. There's just no where to go. We're gonna have to ditch! I'll keep her steady as long as I can. Grab the parachutes!"

"Right," said Illya with a nod, already in motion toward the aft of the plane. With the floor bucking under him, he stumbled to the emergency locker and tore it open. He grabbed two parachutes from its compliment and made his way back toward the cockpit. Napoleon was casting about for something to brace the yoke.

The plane hit some turbulance and shook beneath them and Napoleon's hands snapped back to the yoke. "Get your chute on!" he snapped at Illya.

The Russian was already doing so, as quickly as he could manage, buckling the harness. Then he went over to stand next to Napoleon and placed his hands on the yoke, allowing the American to leg go and switch places. Napoleon wrestled into his own parachute and then went toward the back of the plane. He came back with a thick crowbar.

"I'm gonna brace it," he told Illya, taking over on the yoke again, "then I'll be right behind you."

"Napoleon-" Illya started to protest.

"Get in the air! That's an order!"

And with that, the protest was instantly overridden. Illya was nothing if not a loyal second-in-command. Without another word, he moved back to the passenger section and made for the hatch. He cranked the handle to unlock it and pulled it open. Looking out the door for a moment, he then cast a glance back toward Napoleon. His partner was threading the crowbar through the yoke to try and keep it in place long enough for him to get to the door himself. Still conflicted and half-tempted to delay just a few more seconds, Illya grabbed the sides of the door and pitched himself forward through it.

Brother, how he hated drops from planes. He trusted the physics of it all, but there was still something about a thin sheet of nylon being the only thing between him and becoming a grease stain on the landscape that was horribly unsettling.

As soon as he was far enough from the plane to avoid any unpleasant entanglements, he pulled his shoot open. The white nylon blossomed into a bubble and the cables to his harness went taught with a sharp jerk that left him momentarily breathless. Suspended in mid-air, he twisted around trying to catch sight of the plane and watch for Napoleon's chute.

Illya saw the plane buck a couple of times. Looking around, he did not see another chute in the air yet. So when the plane gave one more shudder and then pitched toward the ground with no sign of his partner's exit, Illya's heart jumped into his throat. Suspended in mid-air and at the mercies of the wind, he watched the plane spiral toward the rainforest canopy. Napoleon never came out.

Illya was fairly certain he had shouted his partner's name and several choice curse words, but they were swallowed by the rush of air around him.


	2. I hate the rainforest.

_Part One: I hate the rainforest._

Illya was left breathless by his tirade. His eyes remained transfixed on the spot on the horizon where the plane carrying his partner had disappeared into the forest canopy. It was only a few seconds before he drifted low enough not to see the spot any more, so he concentrated on keeping track of the direction.

To add insult to injury, a strong current of wind caught the bubble of his parachute, pulling him further in the opposite direction with a jerk of the harness. Desperately, Illya grasped at the cables, trying to pull them to steer the chute and tack into the wind. But the chute was not designed to be steered. The result was that he sort of flailed around like a broken marrionette.

The forest canopy was rushing closer now, seeming to have sped up to meet him. But Illya knew it was really more of a matter of perspective than anything. He looked about for a clearing, but there was none in sight. There was, however, a slightly thinner looking section of the canopy. Pulling as hard as he could on the cables of the parachute, Illya aimed for it, hoping for the best landing possible. He managed to get fairly close to it before the tree branches started slapping against his body. He tried to cover his face with his arms to keep from getting struck in the face, but there was a spray of leaves and broken twings that came at him anyway. Momentum was still carrying him forward and he struggled to see anything ahead.

And then something collided with his skull. His strength left him and his arms and legs went limp. For a split second he realized that he was going to lose consciousness.

He did not remember coming to a halt.

When he came back to himself, it was to the sight of the forest floor about twenty feet below his dangling legs. Taking stock, Illya first gently probed the forming bruise on his head. He sucked air in through his teeth when it stung at the touch of his fingers. His fingertips had a little blood on them, but it didn't seem to be too bad, though his head was swimming a little. From the ache under his shoulders and the crick in his neck, he figured he had probably been hanging from the trees for about an hour or so. A few cuts and scrapes here and there rounded out the damage.

Looking above him, he found the nylon parachute caught in the branches. More worrying, though, were the cables, tangled and knoted around tree-limbs. He tugged at them a bit, but they would not move.

"Marvelous," he muttered, darkly.

Seeing a thick tree limb not too far away, Illya began to pump his legs. He started to swing toward it. It took a few passes before he managed to reach it, deperately wrapping an arm around it. With effort, he pulled himself up and sat on the tree limb and began freeing himself of the harness. When he was finished with that, he patted himself down to see what resources he had at his disposal. His Walther Special was still snuggly situated in its shoulder holster at his side. In the inside breast pocket of his jacket, the cylindrical shape of his communicator was still there. It was this he reached for first.

"Open channel D," he said into it after extending the tiny antenna. Strangely, he got absolutely nothing back from it. Not even static. It was completely silent as if it just wasn't on. Closing and re-extending the antenna and reseating the microphone at the other end, he tried again, but there was simply no life to it at all. Frustrated, he shook it and slapped it into the palm of his hand a few times. Still, nothing.

Illya Kuryakin did not believe in luck, per se. But he had to admit, it would have been nice to get some of the good variety right about then. With an annoyed sigh, he snapped the communicator closed and tucked it back into his jacket pocket.

He and Napoleon weren't expected to check in until around sunset, local time. The sun was still high in the sky, so it would be several hours before they missed even that check in, never mind the next one which would make Waverly begin to have a bit of concern for the whereabouts of his top agents. It was liable to be more than a day before anyone from the Rio office would be dispatched to even start looking for the two of them. And if Napoleon was even still alive in the wreck of the plane, he was liable to need help long before that.

Bottom line, Illya couldn't stay where he was. He had to find the plane and Napoleon.

He cast his gaze upward again, considering the parachute. Normally, it was best to leave it as a marker for where you had come down. It would be easier to see from above. But a marker was no good if you couldn't be found beneath it. It was very likely that the parachute and the cables attached to it would be far more useful to him while on the move. Decision made, Illya began to pick his way through the branches, climbing higher until he was within reach of the parachute. As carefully as he could, he disentangled it from the branches and let it flutter to the ends of the still-dangling cables. Then he got to work on those until finally, the whole thing came free and tumbled to the forest floor.

Then, of course, he had to get himself out of the tree. He was able to make his way back to the branch where he had started - the lowest one - but that was still twenty feet up. He had made jumps like that before, but they were risky and the last thing he needed was a broken leg on top of everything else. But the trunk of the tree had a fair amount of texture to it. He figured he could free-climb that far. After all, he had used smaller handholds.

Slowly, hand-over-hand and foot-by-foot, Illya crept down the side of the tree trunk. He was just about ten feet off the ground when his head spun a little bit and he misjudged a handhold. His fingers slipped from the tree trunk, sending him off-kilter. His other hand didn't have enough grip to keep hold and then his feet slipped out from under him. He tumbled the rest of the way down, landing in a patch of some kind of plant at the base of the tree with a poof of what seemed to be pollen. Face first, he sunk into the soft patch of wet mud that the plants were growing out of.

With a groan and his head still swimming, he pushed himself up, spat out mud, and waved away the still-floating pollen with a cough.

"I hate the rainforest," he carped, trying to wipe mud off his face.

Well, at least he was on solid ground again. And nothing broken in the process. Wearily, he gathered himself up and stood, pulling his feet out of the sucking mud and making his way to the downed parachute.

* * *

A little over an hour later - or so he guessed; whatever had fried his communicator had also stopped his watch - Illya struck out in the direction of the downed plane. He had bundled the parachute into a sort of backpack, rolling his jacket and turtleneck into the bundle as well and leaving him wearing only his black undershirt on top. His trousers he left as they were, but tucked the cuffs into his socks, both to keep them from snagging and to keep any crawly things out. Aside from that he had very little to work with; a pocket knife, a couple of tiny packets of explosive with wires already rigged to them, his gun. Luckily he had a full clip for the Special.

He hadn't been walking for more than about a half hour before he was sweating in the Brazillian heat and humidity. He was going to need to find some way to rehydrate within the next couple of hours. So as he went, Illya kept an eye out for something - anything - that looked like it could hold water. Where he was going to get the water was still an open question, but one step at a time.

One thing he had going for him, there wasn't a whole lot of un-shaded ground. He didn't need to worry about sunburn or sunstroke quite so much. It was far better than the last time he had parachuted from a plane and had to make a hike.

At least this time he had his clothes...

The rainforest was alive with sound; birds chirping and squacking, small creatures squeaking and calling to each other, bugs buzzing, he even thought he heard a distant roar of something large every now and again. None of it seemed at all disturbed by his presence and Illya absently wondered if the creatures here just hadn't been exposed to humans much. There was an odd sort of peace here and Illya could certainly see the appeal of a well-prepared, _temporary_ camping trip. He wondered if he could talk Napoleon into it. Given their previous conversation, though, he doubted it. His partner was well capable of roughing it at need, but his idea of a vacation was a pool-side cabana with his own personal margarita bar.

Illya trudged on through the forest, pushing aside a few particularly thick patches of underbrush every now and then. He kept track of the Sun's path through the sky, as best he could through the thick canopy of trees. It served fairly well to keep him on track. Night hiking was going to be a problem, though. There was just no way to see enough sky to make out constellations. He hated the idea of it, since it would waste time, but he would have to stop for the night. He didn't want to accidentally back-track, after all. Besides, that would give him a few hours to come up with a few supplies he was likely to need for the rest of the hike.

Supplies. Ha! That was a good one. Illya's stomach rumbled at the thought. Water he could do at need, in just about any environment. Food was much harder. There were several plants around with fruits and berries on them, but there was no telling which of them were safe for him to eat. He could use his Walther to hunt, of course, but his ammunition was very limited. And there was no telling when he would need that. There was just so much that couldn't be trusted.

And just like that, the scene wasn't so peaceful any more. The noises around him seemed louder, more oppesive, and for some reason he felt as though he was being watched. With the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, Illya stopped and looked around. His head fairly buzzed with the sounds of the forest and it gave a throb again. Out of the corner of one eye, he thought he saw a figure moving in the leaves of the thick undergrowth. But when he turned to look, there was nothing.

Illya had long ago learned not to ignore vague feelings of disquiet, especially ones that felt like he was being watched. Usually, those vague feelings were right. Slowly, momentarily, his hand drifted toward his shoulder holster. But he thought better of it. Whoever it was, they weren't coming for him yet. They were only watching him. What he needed to do was lose them, not try to shoot them.

As if deciding there was nothing there, Illya took a deep breath and resumed his hike. It was only a few minutes later that he came to a large patch of some sort of plant with very big leaves. It looked like it would serve as a way to break line of sight, wherever the person was getting it from. Just before it, he paused again, trying to hear them, and heard the snap of a twig off to his right. There.

As if flipping a switch, Illya took off into the leafy patch at a sprint. There was a furious rustle behind him and he could hear the thump of steps behind him, running to keep up. As soon as he broke through the other side of the leafy patch, he darted to his left and circled back around it. He dropped to a knee to duck behind them and froze.

The leaves rustled and the pounding footsteps came to a halt. Illya figured whoever it was, they were taking a moment to try to spot him again. As carefully as he could, he reached for a fist-sized stone that was nearby. Carefully, making no noise,he threw it off to the right of his path, causing other plants elswhere to rustle and shift. The thumping footsteps were in motion again almost instantly and faded off in the direction he had thrown the rock. Still, Illya waited in silence, making certain that they were well away on their wild goose chase.

When he was certain they were gone, he slowly rose and looked about. The oppresive noises had quieted and his head was no longer buzzing. He gave a sigh of relief, then continued on his way.

* * *

Illya kept going for several more hours. He didn't get the feeling of eyes on him in the entire time, so he was reasonably certain he had lost his persuer. The Sun was beginning to get low behind the trees and he knew the light would be fading soon. He would need to make a camp before then.

In short order, he came upon what seemed to be a suitable location. A tree that looked like it had recently downed had cleared a space and provided some ground cover. The tree itself would be a source for firewood and materials for a shelter. Deciding that he wasn't likely to find anything better, Illya stopped and let his improvised bundle drop.

Good grief, was he thirsty! Water would have to be his first priority. Glancing around, he found a lower-lying patch that had a nice big puddle of water. Thankfully, it was December, right in the middle of the rainforest's rainy season. Hunting up a relatively flat rock, he set about digging a hole next to it. When it was about the size of a basket ball and he was starting to see water seep through the side nearest the puddle, he grabbed the parachute and lined most of the hole with a portion of it. The side that was seeping, he covered with stones. Water began to drip down into the nylon of the parachute, the mud and soil filtering out much of the impurities that had been in the puddle.

Satisfied with this, he left the seep to its work and set about breaking off branches from the downed tree. Any of them that looked like they would give were his targets. The short pieces, he set aside in a sunny patch to dry. Pieces with lots of small twigs and leaves still on them were sorted into their own pile. And five longer bare ones he chose to make a sort of frame, lashing them together with some of the parachute cable. He set the frame over another spread-out portion of the parachute, leaving enough slack that the water seep wouldn't be disturbed. There was still enough parachute left to cover one side and one end of the lean-to frame. Then, he covered the other side with twiggy and leafy branches, leaving the other end open. With some of those still left over, he set them on the side covered with the parachute, helping to keep the nylon in place and covering the bright white color that stuck out the dark green jungle.

With that thought, he began again to think of his mysterious persuer. It was likely that they had figured out that they had lost his trail. If they were any good at tracking, they'd probably have returned to the last place they saw him and started searching for hints of his passing.

He piled a few more leafy branches over the white of the parachute.

By now, the seep had a cup full of water in it. Illya dipped a hand in, careful not to stir up any remaining sediment, and brought it to his mouth. It was heavenly.

The light was beginning to fade now and his next order of buisiness was to set about making some of the things he would need. He was loathe to use it, but one of his miniature explosives served as a fire starter. The wood he had set aside for the fire was still fairly damp and took quite a while to catch. Smoke poured off of it, but eventually, it became managable. Illya set the other logs near the fire in hopes that the heat would dry them further.

After that, he returned again to the downed tree and selected a slightly wider, flatter piece of wood from the splintered end. He returned to the lean-to, sitting just inside its open end, within reach of the fire. Coals had formed on the bottom of the fire by now and Illya used a stick to scoop some of them onto the flat surface of the piece of wood. A hole began to char its way into the wood. When the coals had cooled, he returned them to the fire and took out some more.

He repeated that for hours, until well after the sun went down. A couple of times he took a more drinks of water from the seep. But other than waiting for the coals to cool, he was incredibly bored. His mind began to wander.

The sounds of the forest had changed, taking on a whole different quality in the night. Somehow, the general din seemed darker, more hollow. Frankly, it was creepy as hell. As he listened, the general din grew louder and louder until animal calls began to pierce through his head, making it throb again. It felt as if he was hearing the movement of every bug in the place. Somewhere above, there was the flutter of some sort of night-bird on the wing. Something rustled in the trees, jumping from one branch to another. His head was swimming again and it felt like his chest was tightening.

Why was it doing that? Why was every fiber of his being vibrating? Why was his breathing increasing? He felt like he was going to explode.

And then all the sounds of the forest ceased. All at once, it became a silence so deep that his ears were ringing, straining to hear any sound at all. At the corners of his vision, he thought he saw several pairs of eyes peeking through the greenery, glowing like a cat's or an owl's in the dim firelight. His neck hairs were on end again. Something was watching him again. His mysterious persuer?

Carefully, Illya set his burn-bowl project aside and reached for his Special, forcing his hand steady. When had it started shaking? He hadn't let fear do that to him, before. The moment he flipped the safety off on his gun, there was an explosion of rustling leaves somewhere off to his left. He popped up to one knee, turning that way and pointing his gun toward the sound, but there was nothing. Another movement, somewhere to his left. He spun around and for just a moment he saw a figure moving through the foliage, no more than a shadow, and then it was gone. Then, once again from the direction where it had been at first. Illya spun again and aimed for the sound on instinct, squeezing off a shot.

The sound of the shot was an explosion in his ears. It set them to ringing and Illya couldn't hear anything. Foliage on all sides of him rustled and he spotted a few small birds take to flight in panic.

Slowly, the ringing in his ears quieted. And then the night sounds of the rainforest began to return, far-off at first and creeping closer. Illya's chest loosened and his breath slowed. And the feeling of eyes upon him was once again gone and then he felt a weariness settle against him. More than anything, now, he wanted to sleep. But he was too keyed up, now, jumping at every noise that was louder than the rest. Needing something else to focus on, he turned his attention back to his burn-bowl.

At some point, things began to blur together a bit and the fire went dim. Illya wasn't even really aware of when he had laid back inside the lean-to, his jacket and turtleneck bundled under his head as a pillow.

Dreaming and waking blended together in a swirl of sights, sounds, and memories; the cabin of the airplane, the inside of the lean-to, the heat of the fire and the cold of the wind, the cry of a far-off bird and the squeal of twisting and rending metal. He knew he wasn't sleeping well, but also was unable to tell sleep from reality.

When something finally penetrated the mists, Illya saw a sickly, grey sort of light peeking in through the leaves of the lean-to. Dawn had come without fanfre. He wasn't sure, at first, what it was that had gotten his attention, but a tiny lance of cold and wet landed on his forehead a moment later. Outside, he heard the soft patter of a gentle rain.

"Of course, it would start raining," he groused to himself with a sigh, "I'll have to remember to tell Napoleon that his God has a horrible sense of humor."

Right. Napoleon. He was wasting daylight. His partner was still out there and he had to find him.

Striking his camp didn't take him long. He drank his fill from the water seep and then left the bowl out to gather rain water. He freed the parachute from the lean-to and the seep and bundled it up again, his jacket and turtleneck coiled up inside it. Four of the main branches that had comprised the lean-to he lashed together and tied to the bundle on his back, figuring they would make a good shelter again, if needed. The fifth, he kept out to use as he walked.

He was already soaked through by the time he had finished and set out in the direction of the plane again. But, at least he wasn't going to want for water. His stomach felt downright hollow and he breifly thought about trying to hunt up something to eat. But with whoever it was that had been following him still out there, he decided that he would likely need the ammunition in his Walther. A snare was also out of the question, since that would mean stopping to wait and he did not have that kind of time, for Napoleon's sake. He spotted various berry plants and fruit plants as he walked, but wasn't able to identify any of them and therefore decided against them; the last thing he needed was to be sick on top of everything else. So, hungry he went. It wasn't the first time.

For being the middle of Brazil, the rain was surprisingly cold. He didn't mind, though. With the pace he was keeping, his body heat was offsetting it nicely.

He had been walking for about an hour when his gooseflesh rose again, putting his senses on alert. His mysterious friend was back. Illya didn't change his pace at all, but his eyes darted back and forth, catching small movements in the underbrush out of the corner of his vision and hearing momentary rustlings of leaves on all sides.

"Enough is enough," Illya growled to himself, under his breath, "time to come out, you bastard."

He waited until the noises were coming from directly behind him, looking for a place to make his move. He found a patch of fronds of some sort of tall, thick grass and ducked into it, coming to an immediate halt and crouching, drawing his Special.

As soon as the fronds parted and a figure came through, Illya jumped up, pointing the gun directly at his persuer's chest. The figure reeled back, giving a yelp and throwing his hands up in surrender.

"Whoa, easy there, chum!"

Illya looked at the figure in confusion, slowly lowering his gun. There, standing in front of him, looking like he had been pulled the wrong way through a hedge, was his partner.

"Napoleon?" he asked.

Slowly lowering his hands, Napoleon gave Illya one of his trademark winning grins.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. This chapter was a slog. I imagine it was as much a slog to read as it was for me to write. Yes. It is supposed to be that way. Illya is slogging. See what I did there? Things will pick up a bit now that Illya has someone to talk to again.
> 
> I did as much research as I could on wilderness survival for this chapter. Even so, my lack of first-hand experience probably shows to people who have done it. Hopefully, it didn't pull anyone out of the mood too much.
> 
> Thanks for getting through this first chapter with me!


	3. A disagreement with the trees...

_Part Two: A disagreement with the trees..._

To say that Illya was irritated by his partner was probably the understatement of the year. Napoleon looked tired and dirty and wet, but otherwise in good shape, all topped off by that maddening boyish grin.

"Dammit, Napoleon!" Illya exclaimed, putting his gun back in its shoulder holster. "What did you think you were doing, skulking around in the bushes like that? I could have shot you!"

"I had to be sure it was you," Napoleon said with a shrug.

"Who the hell else would it be?"

"Well, we _were_ out here to find a THRUSH satrap, so..."

Illya gave a heavy sigh, allowing that it was a reasonable excuse. He rubbed a hand down his face, wiping away some of the water that had collected and was dripping down from his hair.

"I must have covered more distance than I thought," said Illya, "I take it the plane is close?"

"Oh, ah, no," said Napoleon, "not really. I did get a pretty good look at the direction it went down, though."

"So you weren't still in it when it went down?"

"I said I was going to follow right after you, didn't I?"

Illya's head gave a throb, right where it had impacted with the tree branch yesterday. He gave it a gentle touch with his fingers. "I didn't see your chute," he said, puzzled, "I assumed you had still been inside."

"Yeah, that's a long story," Napoleon said, "and best told over whiskey. You all right, there pal? Looks like you got a good knock to the head."

"I had a disagreement with the trees when I came down," Illya grumbled back, "I don't suppose you have any aspirin with you?"

"Sorry," said Napoleon with a shrug, "but I came down with even less than you."

"Your communicator?"

"Not a spark of life to it," Napoleon said grimly, "just like the plane."

"Mine too," Illya said with a nod, "so, any ideas?"

"Well, I was heading for the plane when I heard you rattling around," he said, "figure it's still our best bet for supplies and shelter. And maybe we can get the radio going and contact UNCLE in Rio." He slipped past Illya in the long gass fronds and began walking. "It's this way, c'mon."

Illya rolled his eyes with a smirk and began trailing after him. Leave it to Napoleon to start acting like he was in charge the moment they were back together. Sure, technically, he outranked Illya, but he was also fond of saying that in the field they were partners, equals. But that didn't stop him from expecting Illya to go along with his decisions. And for the most part, Illya was all right with that. After all, Napoleon knew what he was doing, just the same as him.

They walked on in silence for a while, their feet and the sound of the falling rain the only noise. Illya felt the mud sucking at his shoes as they went as the ground became more and more saturated. Napoleon didn't seem to be having any trouble with it, though. He carried on, walking with his usual poise, as if strutting for a pretty woman on the street.

"One thing still bothers me," Illya said after a while, "if you found me this morning, who was sneaking around my camp last night?"

Napoleon stopped in his tracks and slowly turned back to look at Illya. "Oh," he said with uncertainty, as if making a connection for the first time, "whoops."

"It was you, wasn't it?" Illya asked, sardonically. The only reply he got was his partner chewing on his bottom lip, looking sheepish. "Why didn't you _say_ something?"

"I couldn't see that it was you!" Napoleon shot back. "And then there was a bullet wizzing past my face, so, waiting for daylight so I could find out who I was dealing with seemed the better option at the time."

"And to think I was worried about you," Illya muttered sourly, slipping past Napoleon to continue onward.

"Aww, Illya," Napoleon said with a smirk, following along after Illya, "worried about little ol' me? I'm touched."

Illya gave a harrumph. "In the head, maybe."

"Don't be like that, partner mine," said Napoleon, "I didn't mean to freak you out."

"You didn't freak me out," Illya snapped back.

"The hail of bullets says otherwise."

"It was one!" Illya shouted, turning back to hold up a single finger in Napoleon's face. His partner threw his hands up in surrender at the motion.

"All right," Napoleon said, concilliatory, "all right. Geeze, you're on edge, pal."

Dropping his hand and breathing a deep breath, Illya looked up into the falling rain and let it fall on him for a moment, feeling the throb in his head returning again. "I'm sorry," he said, putting a hand to his head and turning away, "it must be the headache."

"It seems like it's a little more than that," said Napoleon, sounding concerned, "you're not sick, are you?"

"No, I don't think so," Illya said, turning his hand over and feeling his forehead with the back of it, "I am very tired, Napoleon." He leaned against the nearest tree, closing his eyes for a moment.

"You're not giving up are me, are you?" Napoleon asked, leaning against the tree with one hand. Illya gave him a skeptic's stare. "'Cause I didn't hike all this way to find a quitter. We need to get back to that plane, so c'mon. If we stop here for too long, it's likely neither one of us will get moving again."

Gathering what energy he had, Illya pushed himself from the tree and ducked under Napoleon's outstretched arm to continue onward. Napoleon fell into step just behind him.

"And you're sure you're not getting sick?" his partner asked again. "No other injuries I should know about besides the knock on your noggin?"

"Nothing else," said Illya, "I'm fine."

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Napoleon."

"Just checking."

They trudged on for a few moments of silence. "So, just how did you make it out of the plane safely?" Illya asked, finally.

"Oh no," said Napoleon, "the price of that story is whiskey. So if you want to hear it, you'll keep moving."

"Ah," said Illya, "always figured I'd one day be blackmailed by a tyranical capitalist."

"Whatever keeps you moving, dirty commie," Napoleon said with a chuckle.

* * *

Neither one of them spoke much for a long time after that. It was just as well, Illya decided, because it was taking all the energy he had to just keep moving. Napoleon kept behind him most of the way, only taking the lead when he thought they were getting a little off-track. Illya wasn't really certain how Napoleon knew they were getting off track. He asked him once, but he got an answer, which, frankly didn't make any sense at all. With how thick the forest was, they were liable to walk six feet away from it and still not see it, so there wasn't much point in arguing. Small adjustments in their direction, either way, wouldn't change their chances much.

The rain continued, at some points coming down even harder than it had. Illya's clothes stuck to him miserably and he had long ago decided that it wasn't worth even trying to keep mud off the backs of the legs.

"Hey, Illya," said Napoleon, out of the blue, "I spy my little eye something beginning with T."

Illya stopped in his tracks and turned back to look at his partner like he was out of his mind. "Really?" he asked, skeptically.

"Just something to pass the time," his partner replied with a shrug, "c'mon, something beginning with T."

Illya gave a sigh. "Trees," he said, turning on his heel and continuing onward.

"Okay, beginner's luck," said Napoleon, "two out of three. I spy with my little eye something beginning with... M."

"More trees," Illya answered flatly, without even hesitating.

"Best three out of five, then," Napoleon continued, "I spy with my little eye something beginning with S."

" _Still_ more trees," Illya answered, not breaking stride.

"Maybe we've been spending too much time together, chum," Napoleon stated after a significant pause.

"Or maybe it's a childishly simple game and there are nothing but trees as far as the eye can see," said Illya, "tell me you spy something beginning with P and I'll be interested."

There was another significant pause and Napoleon cleared his throat.

"Oh, just say it, Napoleon."

"Plants."

"Oh, brother," Illya sighed, "if there is such a thing as karma, I must be paying it off with interest."

With that, Napoleon launched into a long speech extolling the virtues of traveling games. He was beginning to list state capitals based on letters of the alphabet when when something pushed its way into Illya's consciousness. It was just on the edge of his senses. He concentrated on it, hoping to catch it. For a long time, there was only the sight of the green jungle, the rushing sound of the falling rain and Napoleon's chatter, and little else.

The animals had gone quiet again. Even in the rain there had been occasional bird-calls or the scrabbling of tiny claws up in the trees. But now there was nothing.

Illya stopped abruptly, holding up a hand. He was surprised that his partner didn't actually run into it. "Napoleon, be quiet," he said, keeping his voice low.

"Illya, not even you can object to-"

"No, I mean _be quiet_!"

Napoleon finally got the hint and took up position at Illya's back. They both cast about, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

"I don't hear anything," Napoleon whispered.

"Yes, and isn't that strange?" Illya replied in kind.

"Now that you mention it..."

The crack of a stick off to Illya's right, somewhere right about two o'clock, caused them both to spin around and look in that direction.

"Now _that_ I heard," said Napoleon as Illya reached for his Walther. "Partner mine, I think we might be boxed in."

"THRUSH?"

"Maybe," Napoleon allowed.

"Don't suppose you have your gun?" said Illya.

"Lost it when I came down," Napoleon replied, "make every shot count, okay?"

They stood there for several seconds, listening to movement from a number of directions, Illya ready to shoot and Napoleon ready to pounce at the first clear sign of an enemy. The rain beat down around them, loudly, making it difficult to tell where their pursuers were.

And then Napoleon was in motion, leaping away from Illya's back and making for a patch of movement in a shrub. An instant later, Illya spotted a figure in blue coveralls, toting a signature THRUSH-made rifle, emerge from the foliage. Instantly, he shifted the aim of his own gun that direction and squeezed off a shot. The THRUSHie jinked out of the way and charged forward, making for Napoleon. Illya didn't have time to cover his partner, though, as another emerged, making for him, swinging the butt of his rilfe at Illya's head. Illya dropped and dodged the blow, kicking a leg out and trying to pitch the THRUSHie on to his back. The THRUSHie hopped over it and overshot his target, giving Illya enough time to spin around and try to shoot at him again. But the shot seemed to go astray as the enemy dodged out of the way again.

Napoleon was well and truely engaged, playing a game of fox-and-hound with three men. He landed several punches, only barely managing to fend off the attackers. Illya wasn't able to come to his aid, though, as he found himself beset by three more men himself. He fired off several more shots, but they did little but make the attackers heasitate and scatter a little bit. Soon, Illya's gun clicked without the loud report of gunfire. The attackers closed in and he went on the attack, charging toward one target. A great deal of hopping and dodging went on, on both sides, with very little to show for it. Illya didn't land a punch, but neither did the attackers lay a hand on him.

"Now would be a good time to stop, Mister Kuryakin," a voice called out from the edge of their little clearing. The action paused and Illya looked toward the voice to see a well-dressed THRUSH man in a three-piece suit holding Napoleon in a headlock from behind, pointing a weapon at the UNCLE agent's temple.

Illya straightened up from his defensive posture, giving the man a glare and slowly putting his hands up. The other THRUSHies moved in, surrounding him with their weapons pointed in his direction.

"Drop the gun, please," said the well-dressed man.

"Why not," Illya said, sourly, letting the Special fall from his grasp, "I'm out of ammunition anyway."

"Thank you kindly, Mister Kuryakin," said the man, then he shifted his gaze to one of his nearby henchmen, "keep a weather eye on Mister Solo here." As soon as the THRUSHie had a gun trained on Napoleon, the headlock was released and the well-dressed man tucked his weapon back into the shoulder holster under his jacket.

"Sounds like you have us at more than one disadvantage," Napoleon groused, pursing his lips in a grimace.

"Apologies, gentlemen," said the man, "I would have preferred less commotion. I am Augustus Orfeo, head of security for THRUSH research here in the Amazon. And I'm afraid you've come just a little too close to our facility. I must ask you to come with us, please."

"Well, an invitation like that..." Napoleon carped, trailing off as he and Illya were herded together.

Orfeo gestured onward, directing the group in a direction almost ninety degrees from the direction Illya and Napoleon had been traveling. One THRUSHie led the way, the others falling into step behind Illya and Napoleon, their guns trained on the two agents. Orfeo brought up the rear.

"Fantastic," Illya muttered to Napoleon, "you couldn't just walk quietly, could you?"

"Hey, what about you?" Napoleon tossed back, "I didn't see any of your bullets hit their mark."

Illya didn't really have a response to that. He growled out a frustrated sound at his partner as they trudged along, his head throbbing anew.

* * *

The rain continued to pour and the increased activity caused all the wildlife to flee before them. They hiked for about an hour, Illya figured, before any more words were exchanged.

"So, can I ask what's your plan for us?" Napoleon asked, casting a gaze back toward Orfeo.

"Well, it is a _research_ facility," said Orfeo, "I'm certain our scientests could use a couple of new guinea pigs. Plus, we have several ongoing projects on truth extraction going on, so we'll be able to gather a little intel at the same time."

"You have to know we'll never tell you anything," said Illya.

"I wouldn't say that until you know what you're getting into, Mister Kuryakin," said Orfeo, "I did say our methods are experimental, after all."

"Meaning probably deadly," Napoleon put in, sourly.

"Not exactly the best motivation, you know," Illya added.

"We shall see," said Orfeo.

The THRUSH head of security brought them to a halt in a small clearing, the other henchmen surrounding their captives. Orfeo pulled out a radio and twisted a knob. There was a short burst of static, then he spoke into it.

"This is Orfeo," he said, "we have the two UNCLE agents. Open the door, please."

Illya looked at Napoleon in confusion, casting a gaze about the otherwise emply-looking clearing. Napoleon gave a shrug and a small shake of his head.

Orfeo hadn't gotten a response from his radio, the speaker producing nothing but static in response to his greeting. Seemingly confused, he shook it a little and listened closer, then pressed the button to talk again. "THRUSH research base, please respond." Still no response. Orfeo slapped the side of the radio a couple times in frustration.

"You sure you're in the right place?" Napoleon drawled, sarcastically which earned him a glare from Orfeo.

The THRUSH agent continued to shake and smack his radio, trying to get a response. Frustrated, Orfeo began to pace around the perimeter of the clearing, beginning to curse at the radio loudly and creatively, in several languages. Illya recognized French, Italian, German... even a few choice words in Russian. Apparently, the guy got around.

And then, in the middle of Orfeo's blue streak, his body suddenly jerked to the side, falling into the underbrush and disappearing. There was a subtle rustle of leaves and then he was just gone.

The rest of the THRUSH men were instantly on alert, several of them pointing their guns in the direction Orfeo had vanished. Somewhere behind Illya, there was the thump of a body hitting the ground and then a panicked yelp. He turned around just in time to see the top of the henchman's head vanish into the green.

"The hell?" one of the other henchmen said. He was the next to go, falling forward on to his face as his legs were pulled out from beneath him. He, too, was sucked into the woods without a trace.

Panic set in among the THRUSHIES and Illya couldn't blame them. Whatever was taking out their men, it was fast and likely brutal. "Did you see anything?" he asked Napoleon.

"Not a thing," his partner replied, on edge once again.

One by one, several of them shrieking in terror, the THRUSH henchemen were pulled into the woods. Every time, Illya managed just to miss seeing any sort of indication of what was taking them.

"Is this your doing?" the last one asked, pointing his gun at Illya and Napoleon, eyes wide with fear and taking a few steps back from them. He got a little too close to the edge of the clearing and a pair of pale, clawed limbs burst out and grabbed him by the chest. He disappeared into the underbrush with a shriek. A short rattle of branches and he was gone.

Illya and Napoleon moved back-to back again, slowly turning around, trying to keep an eye on all sides of the clearing at once. The only sound was the falling rain.

"Napoleon?" Illya whispered to his partner.

"No idea," he answered in kind.

The bushes to their right exploded into motion, belching forth a pale blur that headed directly for them, driving them apart. Both UNCLE agents backpedaled, trying to get some distance. It was Napoleon that the figure focused on, finally giving Illya a chance to see who their new attacker was.

The figure was man-like, lithe and small, skin impossibly pale. A mantle of dry grass covered his back, falling down from the back edge of a mask, painted in garish colors in frightening tribal patterns that made the figure's face look as though the eyes were bleeding. Tattered furs and leathers made up the rest of the creature's garb. Barefoot, he crouched and sprang like an animal, blithely skipping over the mud as if it was completely solid ground.

Napoleon and the figure jumped and dodged each other, the creature's clawed hands sweeping through the air only an inch from Napoleon's face. Illya moved to assist, but the creature sprang up into the trees above, vanishing just long enough that the UNCLE agents lost sight of him. He came at them again from a completely different angle, tackling Napoleon to the ground. With a stunning agility, the creature fliped in a handspring, landing right at Napoleon's feet. The creature grabbed Napoleon's legs and shot backward into the brush with a rustle. Napoleon gave a startled shout and then was sucked in after it.

"Napoleon!" Illya exclaimed, diving for his partner's outstretched arms as they trailed behind. He landed on his belly in the mud, his hands grasping nothing but air as his partner disappeared into the green.

"Napoleon!" Illya shouted again, picking himself off the ground as quickly as he could.

By the time he had gained his feet, the woods were motionless on all sides. Nothing but the sound of rain greeted his ears in all directions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I told you it was going to pick up. Poor Illya, he can't seem to catch a break, can he? Or land a punch... Hmmm...


	4. The woods are lovely, dark and deep

_Part Three: The woods are lovely, dark and deep._

Illya was moving before he even really registered the reality of the situation. He began crashing through the woods at top speed, hoping to overtake the creature and its burden. But for the falling rain, the forest was silent. There wasn't a single disturbance anywhere, nor the sounds of any wildlife.

He continued onward, desperately searching for some sign of the creature's passing; a footprint, a broken branch, disturbed earth, anything. But there was nothing, as if no man had ever passed that way before.

Looking around, feeling his heart pound, Illya came to a stop, trying to catch his breath. He wasn't certain how long he had run, but it had been long enough that he was winded. His head was pulsing with agony, making him a little dizzy. Still casting about, looking for some sign of his partner, he tiredly leaned against the nearest tree. He wasn't certain if the warm wetness in his hair was the rain or sweat. He ran a hand through his hair and for an instant he thought he saw red come away on his hand. But it was a trick of the light.

It was then that Illya realized that light was spilling through the trees, peeking out from under the distant clouds to shine the orange of sunset. He realized that he must have been running for hours. And with no sign of Napoleon or the creature, there was no telling which way they had gone and whether he had gone even close to the right direction.

"Illya, you idiot!" he cursed himself, pounding a fist on the tree in frustration. This sent a lance of pain through his head and he rubbed his temple trying to relieve it. It had been years since he had given into sheer panic. The last time it had required a THRUSH-made gas messing with his brain chemistry to accomplish it. He didn't have that excuse this time.

Thoroughly disgusted with himself, Illya collapsed back against the tree and slid to the ground, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head hang forward tiredly. Running a hand over his face, trying to clear some of the water from his eyes, he desperately tried to rein in his scrambling mind, to figure out what to do.

The good news was that he knew roughly which way was west, thanks to the sunset. And that meant he knew east, north, and south. The bad news, his partner was missing, taken by some sort of savage beast, and between the hike with the THRUSHies and his blind panicked run, he had no earthly idea how far off course he had gone on his trek to the plane.

More bad news, Illya realized then that he was shivering. The raindrops falling from the canopy dug into his skin like icy knives. Setting the back of his hand to his forehead, he felt that it was still quite warm. Napoleon had been right. He was getting sick. And with the day and a half that he had been in this forest, it could have been any number of things that had caused it.

Somewhere, amongst his thoughts, he must have nodded off. He was jolted back to awareness by a sudden rumble of thunder. The woods were dark, now, and the sounds of the night time wildlife had returned. Somewhere in the distance, something that sounded vaguely like an owl of some sort gave a call, a dulcet tenor note drifting over the sound of the rain. Lightning flashed, lighting the area for a moment, beams cutting their way through the branches in misty shafts.

A poem filtered through Illya's beleagured mind and he smiled bitterly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness again.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep," he muttered to himself, "but I have promises to keep." Gathering himself, he used the tree to help lever him off the ground, turning toward the west. "And miles to go before I sleep," he finished as he began yet another long, unsure trek.

* * *

"Whose woods these are, I think I know," Illya said for what seemed to be the millionth time as he tried to keep himself alert and moving, "his house is in the village, though. He will not see me stopping here, to watch his woods fill up with..."

He trailed off, trying to think of the rhyme. _Snow_ his brain finally decided.

"Mud," was the bitter word that came out of his mouth.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, somehow spurring him on through the continued sounds of the night forest. He stumbled a few times, his eyes trying to rapidly shift between the bright light of lightning flashes and the dark of the night.

"Between the woods and frozen lake," Illya mumbled to himself, trying to concentrate, "the darkest evening of the year. That you did but slumber here while we shadows did appear." He stopped short, his head screaming, and leaned against a nearby tree. "That's not right," he chastised himself.

A loud crack of thunder sounded almost directly above him. Leaning back, his face pointed upward to the rain, he gave an angry shout, lost in the echoing rumble.

"Will you stop raining already!" he screamed upward.

As if in answer, the rain seemed to come down even harder.

"That's what I get for shouting at the rain," he groused, pushing himself off the tree and taking a few steps forward again. "The rain in Spain, falls mainly... on my head... Olive oil." He shook his head trying to clear the disjointed thoughts. "Wait, what?"

Memories of past affairs drifted through his mind, jumbled with the scenery around him, another crack on the head amidst numerous ones. It felt like the migraine had never abated.

"Whose woods are these?" he idly asked himself, somehow still moving. "Whose woods these are, I... I don't give the slightest shit about."

A new sound split the night then, bringing him to an immediate halt, his senses on alert. It was a cry of terror. It didn't sound like any of the other sounds of the night wildlife he had heard so far. It sounded again, from another direction and he was able to pin down why. The voice sounded decidedly human.

Cautiously, carefully, Illya reached down for a thick branch that had fallen to the ground nearby. Holding it like a baseball bat, he slowly made his way in the direction of the sound. He felt a shiver work its way up his spine, though how he was able to distinguish it from the rest of his shivers he wasn't certain. But somehow he knew - he just _knew_ \- there were eyes in those woods.

Another scream in the distance, a different voice, it sounded like. Shaking, Illya made his way in that direction. The wildlife had gone quiet again. The thunder continued to roll in the distance. Illya's head throbbed in reaction to it.

Something reached out and swiped at his ankle, sending him tumbling face-first to the muddy ground. He sensed a presence bearing down on him from behind and rolled to the side just in time to avoid a slice of claws so pale they fairly glowed in the dark. He rolled to his feet, swinging with the branch and meeting nothing but air. But he saw the creature bound backward, landing in a crouch to look up at him. It tilted its masked face to the side as if pondering Illya and let out a chilling series of clicks. Then it was in motion again, charging Illya's direction. Stepping aside clumsily, Illya dodged it and followed through with an overhead strike with his branch. It met nothing but mud as it impacted the ground.

The creature sprang up against the wider tree trunks in succession, darting around Illya like a tornado. Desperately, he swung at it over and over until the branch shattered into splinters against a large boulder. The creature came to rest atop the boulder, looking down at Illya with that maddening head-tilt again.

"Where is he!?" Illya screamed, tossing the branch aside and throwing himself at the boulder, trying to make purchase on the creature. But once again, he felt only air as the creature leaped back, landing in a backward roll that took him into the underbrush. All was silent and still by the time Illya got around the boulder.

Another lightning strike sounded above and Illya shrieked with rage. As both sounds echoed off into the distance, they were answered by another voice giving a terror-filled scream. This time, the voice sounded familliar.

"Napoleon!" Illya exclaimed, his voice barely above a whisper.

He was in motion only an instant later, renewed energy propelling him in the direction of the sound. There was another scream a few moments later, maybe it sounded like Napoleon, but he wasn't certain. He veered to his right, following the sound and shoving branches out of his way as he ran. He altered course again when there was another scream. He wasn't certain which direction he was going any more, but he didn't care.

The screams were getting louder as he went, as if he was getting closer. They were also becoming more and more frequent, drowning out the noise of the rain, the thunder, and even Illya's own thoughts. He burst through a last wall of greenery and stumbled to a halt in a clearing. The screaming ceased at the same moment. Lightning flashed and thunder roared again. In the brief light, Illya saw the dark outline of some sort of a structure, silhouetted against the flashing clouds above.

A chill closed around Illya's heart like a fist. Barely able to keep his feet, he wandered toward the structure. He felt stone beneath his hands as they came to rest on its surface. He ran his hands over the edges of the stones, cut straight and true and aligned with purpose. Illya began to grope his way along the wall, looking for some sort of an opening.

Lightning flashed still again and he caught a clear glimpse of the stone beneath his hands. Carved into the surface were the weathered forms of figures and writing that he couldn't recognize. For some reason, it was important to get an idea of what the carving represented, so he waited for another flash of lightning.

When it finally came, Illya stumbled back away from the wall in fright. The writing was still a mystery, but the figures were unmistakable. Carved into the side of the stone was a beast with long claws, the slithering body of a serpent, and the back legs of some great dog. Above its open jaws, dangling from the claws of one hand, a man was poised to be dropped into the gaping maw. For a moment, Illya thought he saw the figure of the man writhe in terror.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark again, he realized that there was a warm glow coming from the inside of the ruin, just a little down the way. As silently as he could, Illya made his way to the opening. The light had retreated down a long, dark, narrow corridor, the source disappearing around a corner. Quickly and quietly, Illya chased after it, desperately trying to get his breath to quiet and his heart to stop pounding.

He rounded the rubble-strewn corner, ready to spring at an enemy. But instead, the corridor continued onward, empty of anyone else, the light once again retreating into the twisting depths of the structure, just out of sight. Illya pressed on, following it, deeper and deeper into the maze-like windings of the ruin.

The light began to get brighter now, and Illya's head was pounding in time with his heart. His vision was kind of swimming, making him feel somewhat detatched from reality, as if everything around him would melt away in an instant. He rounded one last corner and found there a large chamber, brightly lit with several small fires. Bones were strewn about the floor and it smelled of death.

Movement against the firelight caught Illya's attention, pulling his gaze toward a far corner of the chamber. Crouching there, its profile silhouetted against the firelight, Illya saw the masked creature. The mask was partially pushed back on its head and it was bent over something that was held to its mouth. Illya heard the sounds of gnawing and chewing.

The creature hadn't noticed him yet, so Illya scrambled out of sight, behind a large piece of rubble. It seemed like it was completely engrossed in its meal and Illya decided that now was his chance to get the drop on it. He darted from hiding spot to hiding spot, getting closer and closer to the creature. His breath caught in his throat and he nearly retched as he got near enough to see the creature's meal in the firelight.

It was the unmistakable form of a human hand. And on the pinky, glinting faintly in the firelight, was a familliar star-sapphire and gold ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter is disjointed. But it has nothing on the next one. Hang on, folks!


	5. Don't start speaking in tongues again.

_Part Four: Don't start speaking in tongues again._

A red mist rose in Illya's vision, his eyes transfixed on the ghastly sight before him. It wasn't just any piece of meat the creature was eating. It was a hand. And the ring on the pinky finger identified it as none other than that of his partner.

Rage filled him and he allowed it to enter. Normally, he suppressed such outbursts, knowing that clear-headed action was usually best. It was an attitude that had earned him the nickname of Ice Prince. But now, he just didn't care. He was too tired, too disgusted, too angry. Heat rose from his very core and he gathered strength from it that he hadn't known he had had.

Coldly, the world seeming to shift around him, Illya reached for a large stone, surprised at how light it seemed. He crept up behind the creature slowly, raising the stone as high over his head as he could. Just before he could bring it down on the creature, it started, snapping its mask back into place and whirling around just as the stone began to descend toward its head. With an inhuman shriek, it skittered to the side and came to a halt on on all fours, growling.

The creature leaped at Illya. With a single bound of its legs, it covered the entire distance. This time, though, Illya did not dodge. He let the creature come, standing his ground and screaming a war-cry as it came at him. It slammed into him and they were both tumbling to the ground, grappling. Illya reached for his stone again and swung a glancing blow to the creature's head. The creature recovered quickly, regaining its four limbs and pushing off from the wall it had tumbled into like a demented jungle cat.

It slammed Illya backward into the fallen remains of a stone piller. For a moment, Illya saw stars, but they only faded into the red mist that swirled around him, giving it strength. He lashed out with his fists, flailing in a very clumsy set of strikes that at any other time he would not have allowed himself to fall into. But each one found its mark, pushing the creature back. When it was back against the wall again, Illya leaped toward it, knocking it to the ground again, his hands going for its throat. They grappled again, rolling across the ground and each trying to find purchase. The creature ended up on top and Illya felt its claws around his throat.

Desperately, he flailed his arms, casting about for something that would help. His right hand landed on another stone, grasping on to it. Illya swung for all he was worth. The stone connected with the side of the creature's head with a sickening crack. The creature fell to the side, boneless, and lied still.

Illya sprang to his feet again, ready for the fight to continue. When it did not, and he saw the creature laying in a heap on the ground, he gasped as if he had been holding his breath and the red mist in his vision fell away. The chamber tilted and he fell to his knees next to the creature, staring at it.

He wasn't certain how long he sat there, staring at the garish mask and shaking. There was a foreign pull from it, beckoning for him to pull the mask away and look at the creature beneath it. Slowly, one shaking hand reached for the mask and pulled it away.

Once again, terror slammed into Illya. The face beneath the mask, covered in blood on the side he had hit, was like looking into some nightmarish mirror. His own blue eyes stared back at him, empty and dull. Letting out a cry and dropping the mask as if it had burned him, Illya scrambled backward on all fours, trying to put distance between himself and the twisted, broken mockery. He ran into the wall and scrambled up to his feet, still backing away from the sight, gasping for air. He watched as the creature with his face seemed to melt, a sickly green goo draining into the cracks between stones. Finally, Illya tore his eyes away, turning toward the chamber entrance. There was no other thought in his mind now but to leave, to get away.

But when he turned, he found another form blocking his way. A noise filled Illya's ears, high and piercing. He looked into the face of his partner, eyes sunken, face a deathly gray. His mouth was wide open in a twisted scream and Illya realized that the noise was coming from him. There was anger in Napoleon's clouded eyes. Napoleon's left arm ended in a messy, bloody stump and his right held a large rock. He was winding up to swing with the rock.

Illya covered his ears against the shrieking sound, shaking his head in disbelief, he thought he heard words falling from his own mouth, pleading with his friend, telling him that he didn't mean for it to happen.

Napoleon swung with the rock and Illya ducked under the swing on pure instinct and sprinted for the chamber entrance. Stumbling over loose stones and other bits of ruin he sped through the maze of corridors, uncaring of whether he was heading for the entrance or not. Behind him, Napoleon's hideous shriek continued, instilling more panic in Illya's chest.

Illya ran on, blindly. He needed to get away. Some distant part of him realized that he was doing exactly what he shouldn't. But training held no sway in the face of pure, primal fear and instinct.

Eventually, Illya tumbled out into an open space, his feet sliding out from under him and he fell, skidding to a stop in a puddle of muck. Thunder roared above him and there was a bright flash as he flopped over in the mud, turning his face upward to the falling rain. Fight left him for a moment as he watched the clouds rolling and flashing above. He shivered in the cold downpour, chest heaving convulsively in some sort of disgusting mix of laughter and sobbing. He wasn't certain if the water pouring down his face was from the rain or his tears.

It didn't matter.

The shriek sounded from the opening of the ruin and lightning flashed above, conjuring up visions of another time he had raised his hand against Napoleon. The rolling thunder faded into a cacophony of his partner's voice, calling his name over and over as he ran up to him. All of this compressed into an instant and Illya jerked upright with renewed fright.

Napoleon, or whatever it was that was left of him, was lit by another flash of lightning as he jumped down from the wall of broken bricks. Feeling his breath catching in his chest again, Illya scrambled back to his feet and started running, hearing a horrible parody of Napoleon's voice calling his name angrily behind him. He ran onward, heedless of the branches scraping at his face as he burst through them, ignoring the momentary blindness that came when the thunder struck and flashed only to plunge him into darkness again.

Lightning flashed again and he saw Napoleon directly in his path, swinging a large branch toward his head with a roar of anger.

He couldn't stop, couldn't dodge it. It connected with his skull and he tumbled into oblivion.

* * *

Feeling returned first, a sharp pain in his head and something warm on his face. Illya felt something pawing at him. Sound came back next, voices, all speaking over each other, sounding demonic, speaking in a language he couldn't make any sense of. His eyes finally opened slowly to a bright green blur far above him. It resolved into the canopy of the forest far above him, daylight shining through the leaves. He gave a weak moan, trying to shake off the hands grasping at him. The voices grew louder, more agitated.

And then a face appeared above him, the same hideous tribal mask with the bleeding eyes staring down at him. With a shout, Illya tried to sit up, but found something holding his shoulders, keeping him down. Looking around in a panic, Illya found several sets of clawed hands holding him. Several more of the masked faces hovered over and around him.

"Get away!" he screamed, trying to move his arms or kick his legs. But the masked creatures were holding him down, preventing escape. Another approached, holding a jagged, wicked-looking knife. Illya struggled against the ones holding him, but it was of no use. Helplessly, he watched as the knife descended, stabbing into his shoulder. His strength left him quickly and the ground seemed to suck him under, back into darkness.

The weight of the ground settled onto his chest and the surface under him changed to something smooth, soft, and dry, tangling his legs. He opened his eyes again to a bright, burning white, weight getting heavier on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He flailed desperately, trying to clear the pressure from his chest, needing air. But the masked faces appeared above him again, grasping his arms and legs, holding him down again. Laying across Illya's belly a white snake slithered up toward his face. He felt the stab of another knife in his shoulder and darkness began to pull him down again. Just as it did, he felt the snake force its way into his mouth and down his throat.

When the darkness yielded again, Illya floated back into the nightmarish burning white. There were screams nearby, regular and rhythmic as if someone was being tortured in some gruesome, systematic way. Illya tried to cry out but found he could make no sound. The distant screaming increased in speed and intensity. Something cold forced its way into his chest and when he tried to clear it away, he found he could not move his hands or legs, though there was no one holding him down. The white snake reared up, emerging from his mouth to open its jaws wide and hiss, revealing long, needle-like fangs. Illya tried to cry out again, but this only seemed to make the snake angry. It struck, the fangs piercing the skin near his neck. The world tilted around him and he could no longer hold his eyes open. He surrendered to oblivion again, hearing the distant screams fade away and grow quieter and less frequent.

* * *

Something cold and dry was covering his mouth and nose, blowing whooshes of air onto his face. He flinched at it, surprised to hear his voice give a soft moan. He became aware of a soft rhythmic, electronic beeping somewhere nearby.

"Illya?" a voice said from his side, the first intelligible thing he felt he had heard in days. Something warm and gentle covered one of his hands.

He tested his voice again and it sounded stronger this time, though what came from his mouth sounded like a muffled mash of sounds.

"Illya?" the voice next to him, familiar and warm, prompted him again. "Are you with me? C'mon, Illya open up those eyes."

Illya opened his eyes a crack, white once again forcing its way into his sight. He slammed them closed again and groped for words. "Where am I?" he managed out.

"Getting beauty sleep in your favorite place in the world," said the voice and Illya finally placed a name to it, "c'mon, show me those baby blues the girls go crazy for."

Squinting, Illya forced his eyes open. A dark blur amidst the sea of white came into focus, slowly resolving into the face of his partner. Napoleon gave a winning smile, gentle and relieved-looking.

"Napoleon?" Illya mumbled out. "How'd you get here?"

"Ah, there you are, partner mine," said Napoleon, "though I figured you'd ask how _you_ got here."

Dizzily, Illya looked around. He found that he was laying on the soft, antiseptically clean and inclined mattress of a hospital bed. Napoleon was sitting in a chair next to him. Clean sunlight shone through the room's single window and an oxygen mask covered Illya's mouth and nose. Every whoosh of air seemed to clear a few more of the cobwebs from his mind.

"Where's here?" Illya blearily asked.

"UNCLE medical in Rio," Napoleon answered, "back among the living. You've been incoherent and in and out of consciousness for two days."

"Two days?" Illya exclaimed, sitting up and moving to reach for the oxygen mask on his face. His hand came to an abrupt halt, something encircling his wrist pulling back stubbornly. He looked to it and found a padded leather cuff around his wrist. He tested his other hand and found the same there. He became aware of similar restraints on his ankles as well. Adrenaline shot through him and he tasted something bitter in his mouth. "What is...?" he trailed off, pulling against the restraints.

"Easy, easy!" Napoleon urged, gently placing his hands on Illya's shoulders and guiding him to sit back again. "Like I said, you were incoherent," he said, "they had to put those on you when you started to try and claw out the eyes of the pretty nurses. You were having some pretty powerful hallucinations for a while."

"Oh," Illya breathed out, settling back against his pillow. "I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"No, no, they got those on you before things really got ugly," Napoleon answered, "We can probably remove them. Just don't start speaking in tongues again and it should be fine."

"Tongues?" Illya asked.

Napoleon gave a grimace. "Yeah, this is the first English anyone's heard from you in two days. Otherwise it was obscenities in a little bit of Russian and mostly Ukrainian." He gave a chuckle. "It was pretty colorful. I didn't even know you _knew_ those metaphors!"

"Wow," Illya rasped. Napoleon heard the catch in his voice and reached for a covered cup with a straw in it. He pulled the oxygen mask off of Illya's face and held the straw up to his lips. Illya took a pull from it, cool water going down his dry throat and feeling heavenly.

After setting the cup aside, Napoleon reached for the call button, then undid the cuff on Illya's right wrist. "Don't think these are necessary any more," he said. When Illya turned to reach for the one on his left, Napoleon halted him and stood up from his chair. "Here, let me."

Illya watched as Napoleon reached for a pair of crutches that had been leaning against the wall behind the bed. He tucked them under his shoulders and then hobbled around the bed to the other side. Illya got a good look at him then and saw a plaster cast encasing Napoleon's left leg almost all the way up to the knee.

"When did that happen?" he asked Napoleon.

"The plane crash," Napoleon said as he loosened the cuff on Illya's left hand, "all things considered, I came away pretty lucky."

"The plane crash?" Illya asked. "But you were just fine when we were walking through the-"

Napoleon was looking at him with concern and for half a moment, Illya thought he might put the restraints back on.

Illya gave a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. "Hallucinations you say?"

Napoleon gave a nod.

"You weren't actually with me in the woods at all, were you?"

"No," Napoleon said, almost apologetically as he loosened the cuffs on Illya's ankles.

There was a knock on the door frame of the entrance to the room and a doctor appeared there, consulting a clipboard.

"Ah, finally back with us, Mister Kuryakin," he said as he entered, "trust me when I say, the rest of the staff will be relieved. You were a tough customer."

"So I've been told," Illya said with an apologetic nod, "sorry about all that, Doctor...?"

"Gomez," said the doctor, extending a hand. Illya took it and gave it a shake. "And no need to apologize. That was one of the worst cases of hallucinations I've seen in a while."

"You've no idea," Illya agreed, "so what happened to me?"

"Well obviously, we don't have all the details and we're hoping you could fill in some blanks," said Doctor Gomez, "but there were a couple of factors laying on top of each other. First of all, you had a fever of 103 when you were brought in, we're still not sure what brought that on, though it could have been shock. And you had a couple of knocks on the head, leading to a concussion. How is your head feeling?"

"Like it's been rattled by a two-year-old," Illya admitted.

"Yeah, you might have some migraines for a couple of days," Gomez continued, "but the biggest factor was the substance we found lining your lungs. The lab identified it as some sort of pollen, highly hallucinogenic. Never seen anything like it."

Thinking back, Illya gave a nod. "I fell into a patch of some flower or another," he said, "there was a... a cloud of pollen that went up."

"When was that?" Gomez asked.

"When I first landed," Illya answered.

Gomez made a note on his clipboard with a nod. "So, almost four days ago, now." He gave an impressed whistle. "You Section Two guys don't do anything by halves, do you? Strong stuff. Guess that explains the anaphylactic reaction. Your throat started closing up and we had to intubate for a while."

"Ah, that must be why my throat feels like sandpaper," Illya mused with a nod.

"Yeah, afraid so," Gomez confirmed, "well, we'll want to keep you one more day for observation, then I think we'll be able to release you so you can get back to the New York office. Other than the head trauma, with which your file says you are well acquainted, there don't seem to be any lasting effects."

Illya gave a heavy, mournful sigh. "No way I can talk you out of the stay?"

"Not a chance in hell," said Gomez, "and your Mister Waverly sends a message that you are ordered _not_ to go against medical advice and he doesn't want to see you in the New York office for another day and half."

Napoleon was unable to suppress a chuckle. Ilya shot him a glare and rolled his eyes. Napoleon's chuckle drew Gomez's attention to him.

"And you, Mister Solo, should be _off_ that leg," he said, "I told you to keep it elevated as much as possible."

Looking like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, Napoleon hobbled back over to the chair he had vacated and sat down, setting the crutches aside. With some effort, he lifted his cast up and set it on the edge of Illya's bed.

"I won't bother trying to get you back to your own room," Gomez allowed with a sigh, "he's barely left here since you came in, Mister Kuryakin."

"Well, that explains the nightmares," Illya said, a small smirk on his face and giving Napoleon a meaningful look.

"Ouch!" Napoleon replied. "What'd I do to deserve that? Wait. No, don't answer that."

Gomez chuckled. "Well, I see you two are going to be a handful for the next day," he said, "I'll get something light ordered for you to eat, Mister Kuryakin. And if you need anything, just press the button for the nurses."

"Yes, thank you," Illya replied.

"Take it easy and rest up," Gomez said as he swept back out of the room.

Once he was gone, Illya gave a heavy sigh and sunk into his pillow a little deeper. "Well, hallucinating since the moment I landed," he said bitterly, coloring a little, "what a sight I must have been, shouting at the trees and shooting at the air."

"Wanna talk about it?" Napoleon asked.

"Not on your life!" said Illya. "Did they ever find out what caused the plane to go down?"

"EMP," Napoleon replied, "turns out there _was_ a THRUSH satrap in the area. They had an EMP field going in order to keep the area secure. Since we were searching, the plane was low enough to run into it. Knocked out every system on board."

"That explains my communicator and my watch, then. So tell me, Napoleon. While I was stuck in my own personal heart of darkness, what were you doing?"

"Well, I kind of went down with the plane," his partner replied, "just after you bailed, something whammed me in the head. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground, broken airplane around me, and a leg broken in three places. I managed to contact Central and they were able to get someone to me. The plane must have managed to glide until it was just outside the EMP field. It was only about six hours before they picked me up."

"Well, that figures," Illya said, sourly, "I should've stayed on the plane. Strapping in, we both might have been out of there with a lot less drama."

"Yeah, I don't think so," said Napoleon, sucking air in through his teeth, "like I said, I was lucky to get out with just the broken leg. And that was only because I was back in the cabin when I got knocked out. The cockpit was completely destroyed. We would have been crushed."

"And the satrap?"

"Our guys stormed the place. Found it by finding the center of the EMP field."

"All nice and tidy then," said Illya, "just one last thing. How did you end up finding me?"

"Oh! Yeah! Turns out all the hiking you did got you outside the EMP field. Your communicator came back online and our boys were able to track it."

Illya gave a sigh. "At least I had one stroke of luck," he said.

"Whatever possessed you to leave your LZ, anyway?" Napoleon asked.

"Concussion and hallucinations, remember?"

"Ah. Yeah, that would do it," said Napoleon. He began to reach for his crutches. "Well, I should probably leave you alone to get some rest."

Something about him saying that gave Illya a chill. He very nearly jumped. "Ah, Napoleon," he began, but found he didn't quite have the words. His partner sat down again, giving him a concerned look. "I think maybe... stay? I've had quite enough of being alone with my own thoughts for a while."

Napoleon gave Illya an half-smile of understanding and settled back into his chair, propping his leg up on the edge of the bed again. "Sure thing, partner," he said, "it wasn't exactly a picnic for me either." A thought seemed to occur to him and he looked back at Illya slyly. "So, you hallucinated me being there, eh?"

"Oh yes, until you were kidnapped by a savage cannibal monster. Er... you _do_ still have your left hand, right?"

Napoleon looked a little disturbed, but held up his left hand and gave his fingers a wave. "Maybe I _don't_ want to hear about it."

"Well, I did say I didn't want to talk about it."

"You always say stuff like that."

"Nonsense, I do not."

A few minutes later, when a nurse came in with a tray of light food, she found the two agents still bantering with no end in sight. Luckily, she knew better than to break them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are! What was real? What wasn't? We'll never know, will we?
> 
> This is shorter than most of my recent pieces. And my first foray into the fandom, too boot. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed. Please leave some feedback!


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